Jimmy TheTrenBrah was in serious pain. His heart was beating super fast. He felt locked in a stove even though the window of his room was wide open, and a steady breeze was coming in. He was lying in bed in his designer underwear and constantly moving from side to side. He was coughing intensely and had the feeling that somebody was watching him. For this reason, he was occasionally raising his head just to see if there was somebody in the dark room. He was particularly afraid of the bookshelf. In his mind, his three books were the home of demons.

“That Einstein motherfucker is right. Time does pass slowly when you are tortured,” thought Jimmy while rolling in bed.

During the next hour, Jimmy continued to feel like a genetically modified tomato growing in a hothouse. The mattress of the bed was soaked in sweat down to level -2.

Jimmy got up and started looking for his small military flashlight, which was usually right next to the bed. Jimmy was no longer sleeping without a flashlight close to him. He had been suffering from severe anxiety for months, and the dark was scaring him a little. He needed a light as close to him as possible.

After a few seconds, he found the flashlight, turned it on and headed towards the bathroom.

Jimmy was living in a small rented apartment in California. He moved there to pursue his big dream of becoming a professional fitness model. It was working well so far. He was close to signing a contract with a magazine. In fact, there was a big photo shoot tomorrow for which he had been preparing for many months. This was also the main reason why he was constantly increasing his steroid dosages. Jimmy had to destroy the competition with otherworldly leanness, muscle mass, and overall aesthetics.

Jimmy’s bathroom was a little different from the ones you’ve seen. It was full of steroid bottles, painkillers and light forms of recreational drugs. Jimmy was deep into the game and was not planning to end his muscle career anytime soon – he was obsessed and wanted to go as far as possible. #dedication.

Jimmy looked at his chiseled pale face in the mirror and said, “Who are you looking at, brah? You looking at the king of shreds!” Then, he flexed his abs and appreciated highly the mirror’s feedback. He was very close to kissing his reflection but didn’t.

Jimmy was a proud member of the aesthetic crew. He was particularly known for his 10-pack. His abs were extremely lean with visible veins all over them. Very few people in the industry have similar ab genetics. Most of his fellow friends were cursed with six pack abs and in some unfortunate cases even four packs. He was often feeling sorry for those guys and was convinced that if put in a similar situation, he was going to consider restarting life one way or another.

Jimmy decided to shave his beard because the extra heat was killing him. During the procedure he cut his cheek a little – his hand was shaking from all the drugs in his system. Thereupon he went back to bed and reinitiated his attempts to fall asleep.

The sizzling hot August night continued its torture. The constant sweating and coughing were testing Jimmy’s will to continue his life. At 4 in the morning, he decided to try sleeping on the wooden floor since it was one of the few dry and cold places in the entire room. He moved down and used the side of his bed as a pillow. Then, he began searching for pictures of hot female fitness models on his phone even though the drugs had already shut down his sex drive completely. After 30 minutes of butt analysis, he finally entered sleep mode. The fun didn’t last long because an intense nightmare was about to take over his mind.

The dream was his first steroid injection into his innocent glutes. It happened in the bathroom of a restaurant right after buying weird muscle pills from the Professor.

The Professor was an Asian guy with an old school mustache who was constantly wearing large glasses covering most of his face. That’s why people were calling him the Professor – a scary dude to deal with but not as hardcore as the urban legends say. He was known for selling fake stuff more suited for lab rats than humans aspiring to make big money by posing in thongs in front of other mentally damaged people, but his low prices were hard to beat. The majority of his clientele was formed by inexperienced noobs looking for magic.

In his dream, Jimmy was hesitating about pinning his glutes. He was afraid of the pain and the side effects. However, the desire to become a rich fitness model and finally show his family that he can make it in this world won. He inserted the large needle deep into his body. It hurt, but not that much. It was a new sensation for his organism that he was going to remember for many decades.

While Jimmy was in the middle of his first steroid experience, somebody started knocking anxiously on the door. “Just a minute,” said Jimmy with a fake calm voice even though he was panicking inside. “A minute is too long,” said the intruder and kicked the door. It was Jeff – Jimmy’s father. The look of profound disappointment on Jeff’s face as a result of seeing his son half naked in the middle of a public bathroom with a needle full of gold like substance sticking out of his butt cheek was one in a million.

Jimmy woke up in real life and felt grateful that it was all a dream. There were about five large buckets of sweat on the floor. Jimmy was feeling completely exhausted. His system was overwhelmed and even moving from side to side was a draining effort. The fatigue and the mental stress had him chained. For the next two hours, he just stood there, staring at the left leg of his wardrobe.

Deep down inside Jimmy knew very well the source of his physical pain – it was the cheap Trenbolone that he had bought from a shady dealer in his gym. Tren was giving Jimmy the worst side effects of all drugs, but he had to continue injecting because of the look that substance was known to produce, namely the “fuck me know look” which is quite common for professional fitness models. Jimmy was strongly convinced that without “tren” fitness modeling would be just a dream. All of his fellow brahs and rivals were doing similar cycles.

At about 8 in the morning, Jimmy got up and began preparation for the big day. He put on his nicest training clothes, added strong technological scent to him by letting an expensive perfume wrap around him, got into his second hand Mercedes Mini and headed towards the biggest gym in the city. That morning he didn’t inject any steroids into his body. The work had already been done and it was time to reap the benefit.

Jimmy went an hour early to get a sick pump. The gym was pretty much empty except for a cardio bunny running wild. She was really hot and had the perfect slut to good girl ratio. Unfortunately, even this was not enough to make Jimmy hyperventilate. He was dead downstairs due to his super long steroid cycles. Jimmy had forgotten how it feels to have a rocket launcher in your pants. The girl’s perfectly sized breast was jumping in front of his face, and yet he looked at it like it was a street rock. That made Jimmy a little sad. But after a few seconds, a popular 50 Cent song known as “When it rains it pours” began circulating through his headphones. The line “keep your mind on your money and don’t trust no bitch” was enough to make Jimmy forget his momentary impotence. Besides, a really hot muscular motherfucker was looking at him in the mirror. Jimmy smiled and calmly continued his workout.

The photo shoot started 25 minutes later. The high number of photographers and make-up artists made Jimmy feel special. The people in the gym thought that he was a movie star. An old woman even took a selfie with him in the background.

Jimmy was the center of attention. His excruciating pain disappeared. He was finally able to recall why he’d started this muscle journey in the first place. After years of training, injecting and sucking up to people, he was finally getting the recognition he deserves.

“Maybe my dad will admit that I am not a failure,” thought Jimmy while thinking about his dream from last night.

In the evening Jimmy found himself sitting alone in his apartment. He was drinking a really strong whiskey – his favorite drink. He had many friends and a wild social life, but this time he had declined all party offers.

Jimmy wanted to participate, but due to his strong anxiety and panic attacks going to clubs was difficult and sometimes even painful. The loud music was killing his ears, and the pistol wasn’t working. “There goes my goal to make passionate love to a geisha before reaching 30,” whispered Jimmy after swallowing another sip of hard liquor.

A few hours later, Jimmy found himself in the same position as last night – lying on the floor covered in self-produced salty water.

“Pew, pew, pew,” said Jimmy’s phone.

Somebody had left a comment underneath a photo from the photo shoot.

Someone under the nickname “iloveshreddedmuscle” had written the following:

“Hello, Jimmy. You are my favorite fitness model. I really respect you for keeping it real and staying natural in times when everybody is on dat der celltech. I hope that one day I will be like you.”

That message put a smile on Jimmy’s face even though his soul was saying otherwise.